


hand me downs suck

by WinchesterLuck



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Kidfic, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 13:56:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4307691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinchesterLuck/pseuds/WinchesterLuck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A rant from Dean and Cas's second child. </p>
<p>First try at a kidfic, be kind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hand me downs suck

Hand Me Downs Suck

It is bad enough that almost all of my clothes are hand me downs, it is even worse that they come from my sister, but the absolute wort part is the fact that they all have stitches and or patches. Well not the pants, but all the shirts and jackets. 

Its not like we don't have money, well technically we don't, but that never stopped the dads from keeping the salt supply full, or an extra bottle of hunters helper around. It is a small consolation that at least my sister is the least girlie girl I have ever personally met, perhaps because she is not strictly a girl. Wait that came out all wrong, of course she is a girl, she is not exactly human, hence the holes in all the shirts. 

You know how every parent thinks their child is "a little angel", well let me tell you that shit is highly over rated. My sister is a nephil, technically all of us are nephilim, us being the kids of the flock. So we are not angels, we are not humans, and for the love of everything sacred we are not hippies, jeez just because we all live together does not make it a commune.

Technically there are eight of us in the flock, but there are usually at least ten people living here, and there have been times when that number was closer to twenty. I guess I should explain. It all started when Dad was killed by hell-hounds, Pop was commissioned to raise him from perdition, and from the way the uncles tell it, years of pining and mutually unrequited love until heads were finally removed from asses and marital bliss ensued. Then came an "Oh shit, what do you mean you can get pregnant, you are a dude". That little bundle was my sister Katherine, known to all as Kat unless she is in real trouble then she is Katherine Mary Joanna Ellen Winchester (I think they were trying to cover all the bases). Followed by a "Now lets have a perfect one." that would be me, Robert Alexander Winchester. 

We have a great house, built directly over what the dads call " the bunker", I grew up thinking that everyone had a dungeon, luckily I was home schooled so no cats were accidentally let out of bags. The public education system in Kansas is not exactly set up for kids like us anyway. There was always someone to play with, either Kat (even big sisters will do in a pinch) the cousins, one of the other Dads, or one of our many "aunts" or "uncles". We all lived together, which I guess is strange, but the Dads were not prepared to separate after losing each other so many times, the human ones and the angelic ones. Besides the Dads will tell you, if it take a village to raise a child it takes a clan of hunters, and angels to raise four nephilim.

Anyway, I digress, the hand me downs have always been the bane of my existence . I guess it was not so bad until I realized I was wearing a girls clothes and Kat sprouted wings, but really the whole wing thing did not directly affect me until the I got big enough to wear the clothes that had been modified to accommodate her very unimpressive wingspan. 

Technically I know I should not give her too hard of a time, but it is so easy. I mean after all there is Kat, with her emo blue black hair ( it is natural, but damn if everyone does not think it came in a bottle) with her perpetual black skinny jeans and band shirts and those gross beat up black converse,and black eyeliner rimming too big green eyes. So there is my tomboy emo skater sister with pink sparkly wings. She cried when she first saw them, but Pop assured her that they would eventually turn into huge fearsome non shiny wings that would inspire terror in the heart of any mere mortal who saw them. Dad had to leave the room to keep from giggling, and Kat slowly calmed down. They have since gotten a lot bigger, less shiny, and darkened into a deep magenta, Pop says he thinks they will either go deep red, or slowly shift to black like his. She can fold them away now, but when we are just chillin' in the casa she likes to let them stretch, hence the need for clothing modifications.

She was fourteen when they sprouted, that was two years ago. The Dads seem to think it will happen as we start human adolescence, so now it is a race between Pete and me.

I suppose the outside world would think we are twins instead of cousins but sharing a last name, a birthday, and a house kind of lends itself to the whole "Winchester twins" theory. We stopped correcting people a long time ago, but if one more person calls us "Pete and rePete I might have to practice my smiting (joking, just joking don't tell Pop). I was named after my then dead Uncle Bobby, the Dads couldn't quite bring themselves to call me Bobby so I am Robby, but if you want to get on my good side please just call me Rob.

We figure Luke has a solid year to make fun of us before it is his turn, but there is really no way to know until it happens, so Pete and I check each other every night to see if there is any sign of the wings. Kat says we will feel them before we see them, but we still check.

In the mean time here I am in a pair of black skinny jeans and a fall out boy t-shirt with the two slits on the back expertly sewn back together, nobody knows how to do a really nice even hand stitch like a hunter, the angelic Dads are not nearly as good at it, apparently they don't stitch people up, they just heal them. I kinda wish someone would heal this shirt, and maybe change the band to one that doesn't make me look like an emo poser. At least I got Dad's coloring instead of Pop's, not that I wish freckles and a bit of ginger on my worst enemy, but I'd rather look Irish than emo. 

Anyway I am finally almost the same size as Kat, so I guess the era of the hand me downs is finally over maybe if Karma is real she will be wearing my hand me downs next year. I think it would serve her well to wear some band shirts for bands that don't suck, maybe some Louden Swain, or AC/DC, just sayin'.

Rant over.... RePete out.


End file.
